The media–technology–military industrial complex

In a world of
so-called fake news and post-truth politics, the influence of largely invisible
qualities of concentrated power over media, public and policy agendas, warrants
renewed and urgent scrutiny.

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Invisibility is
the essence of the radical view of power developed in 1959 by US sociologist C.
Wright Mills, according to which concentrated power in late capitalist
democracies was invisible, and no longer to be found in the observable
decision-making and conflicts of day-to-day partisan politics. Two years later,
it was echoed in the concept of a ‘military–industrial complex’, first articulated
by the then US Republican President Dwight D.
Eisenhower. In his farewell
address in 1961, Eisenhower issued a famous warning to the American
people:

We must
guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or
unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous
rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.

Mills, like Eisenhower,
reflected on the exponential growth and consolidation of corporations, the
military establishment and government bureaucracy during the post-war period,
along with the rapid development of communication technologies and
infrastructures. These were not coincidental and autonomous processes but
mutually constitutive of an ever more integrated elite power structure; and one
that transcended the formal checks and balances of the political system.

But for critics of
Mills, the suggestion of any kind of definable club at the top echelons of
state–corporate power lacked empirical foundation and flew in the face of what
seemed to be an opposite and prevailing trend. This was characterized by
growing disunity among elite factions
as the political economy became increasingly complex and fractured. As Daniel
Bell observed in respect of corporate power in post-war America: ‘I can
think of only one issue on which the top corporations would be united: tax policy.
In almost all others, they divide.’

Bell pointed out
some of the fault lines that divided industrial interests in the post-war
period, including those between railways, truckers and airlines; or between
coal, oil and natural gas. In this essay I address similar fault lines in the
digital information economy, which have manifested themselves in public
squabbles and legal battles between content owners (especially publishers),
intermediaries (such as search and social networking sites) and network operators
(including Internet Service Providers (ISPs) and app platforms). The essential characteristics of revolving doors,
intimate social relations and strategic partnerships remain as pertinent today
as they did in the 1950s.

From net neutrality
to ancillary copyrights, these titanic struggles suggest – on the surface at
least – a far more profound disunity among the established and emergent
gatekeeping powers than the industrial tensions to which Bell pointed. In short,
the media–technology complex hardly seems to reflect anything like an
‘interlocking directorate’ that Mills ascribed to the power elite, much less a
hegemonic consensus that radical critics of the media have long identified.

But on closer
examination, the picture is much less fractious than it appears. In the
discussion that follows, we review the underlying and overall consonance of
interests between different players in the information economy, as well as
evidence of an intensifying alliance and collaboration that extends to the
wider military–industrial complex. Although the composition of the power elite
inevitably varies according to place and time, the essential characteristics of
revolving doors, intimate social relations and strategic partnerships remain as
pertinent today as they did in the 1950s.

This does not mean
that the tensions between corporate interests, both within and across
communications sectors, are a charade. But, just as Mills suggested, these are
not the whole story, and perhaps not even half the story. In a world of so-called
fake news and post-truth politics, the largely invisible qualities of
concentrated power that Mills highlighted, along with its potential influence
over media, public and policy agendas, warrants renewed and urgent scrutiny.

The blood, the veins and
the heartbeat

To get to the heart
of the matter, we have to consider how concentration and consolidation in media
markets is intensifying under the shadow of digital monopolies like Google and
Facebook.

Indeed, what is
truly unprecedented about the market power of these platform monopolies is not
the extent of dominance within their own core markets (search and social
networking), but the immense influence they wield over others. This is
precisely because they occupy the
hinterland between industries built on network and copyright control. In so
doing, they have assumed control of something of far wider consequence: the
means to connect these industries with end users. If ‘referral traffic’ is the
blood that now sustains much of the cultural industries, and the pipes and
networks through which that traffic flows are the veins, then intermediaries
provide the heartbeat. And there are no industries now more dependent on that
heartbeat than news. Facebook and Google together account for more than 70% of
users directed to the websites of major news publishers. From any perspective
this translates into a stunning degree of market influence.

To understand the
impact on concentration of news markets, we have to get to grips with how
dependence on referral traffic has raised capital costs in the world of digital
journalism and erected new barriers to market entry. Although newsgathering may
be cheaper than ever before, this is countered by the growing costs of
competing on volume, while the
ever-expanding information noise means that prospective new entrants often need
sky-high marketing budgets in order to compete.

This is seen not
only in rising advertising costs, as major brands out-bid smaller players in
keyword auctions; but also in the development of new marketing specialisms,
namely strategies of search engine and social media optimization that have
particular resonance for the news industry. These in turn have spawned a whole
new professional class of skilled marketers and agencies that make competing
with the big names a very costly business.

The tyranny of automation

In spite of these obstacles, the last
decade or so has seen the rise of a small number of new entrants in mature
digital publishing markets, from the Huffington Post to the Intercept.com. But
their overall audience still tends to be marginal compared to dominant
television and newspaper brands, and it remains to be seen how much of a
challenge they present to mainstream consensus agendas.

What is clear is that offering such a
challenge is, from a commercial perspective, a high-risk business. This is
partly because major news algorithms disproportionately favour not only
established large-scale brands, but also a consensus news agenda. In May 2016,
five whistle-blowers revealed the existence of a specialist ‘curating’ team
within Facebook, responsible for manually editing its trending topics. Housed
in the basement of its New York offices, this team was widely accused of
peddling an anti-conservative editorial bias, although this proved to be more a
reflection of the personal political sensibilities of the curators than any top-down
editorial directive.

What was fed down from the top was explicit instruction to
defer to a mainstream agenda consensus: curators were to ensure that stories
that were attracting substantial coverage in mainstream media and on Twitter
were given a boost if they were not trending on Facebook ‘organically’. Major news algorithms disproportionately favour not only
established large-scale brands, but also a consensus news agenda.

Deference to a mainstream news consensus
can also be embedded inadvertently in algorithmic design. Arguably the closest
proxy for a news agenda in the social media world is Twitter’s trending topics
(a forebear of Facebook’s equivalent). These highlight the most popular issues
discussed on the social network in any locality or region, at any given time,
as denoted by the hash-tag label for particular topical discussion threads. In
2011, considerable controversy was stirred when activists from the Occupy
movement – a global direct-action protest network born out of the fallout from
the 2008 financial crash – noticed
that the hash-tag for Occupy Wall Street (OWS) never seemed to make it onto the
trending topics list in New York. This seemed particularly bizarre because OWS
was at the heart of a movement that was attracting significant attention from
mainstream media at the time. #OccupyWallStreet
had also been ‘trending’ regularly all over the world, but never in the
city where its direct action and protest activity was taking place. Even more bizarrely, the same thing was
happening with the #OccupyBoston hash-tag,
which was regularly trending in cities and regions other than Boston but never in Boston itself.

The "sign tent" at the Occupy Boston demonstration, 3 October 2011. Wikicommons/Tim Pierce. Some rights reserved.Not surprisingly,
the social network was accused of cooperating with local authorities in
censorship and efforts to suppress the movement. Part of the suspicion stemmed
from the fact that the technical apparatus of trending topics has always been
hidden from public view. But in a brilliant ‘reverse engineering’ data
analysis, Gilad Lotan showed how the anomalies in Boston and New York were not in
fact the function of any intentional manipulation by Twitter or the authorities,
but rather the unintended consequences of a particular algorithmic feature.[i]

Contrary to what
might be assumed, Twitter’s determination of ‘trending’ is not based
exclusively on the volume of tweets attracted by any given hash-tag at any
given time. This is because one of Twitter’s principal concerns with trending –
as the term suggests – is to do with ‘newness’. So its algorithm rewards
particular terms and topics that experience ‘spikes’ in users’ attention and
participation, rather than those that attract consistent and prolonged
activity. The reason that #OccupyWallStreet
and #OccupyBoston had never
trended in their respective cities was because they had, from the start,
attracted a gradual and sustained growth
of local attention, as opposed to simply spiking around particular events that
attracted broader mainstream media focus. As Lotan remarked, ‘There’s
nothing like a Police raid and hundreds
of arrests to push a story’s visibility’.

So
this was not, after all, censorship – or at least not in the way that many had
suspected. But it did reveal an important feature of Twitter that has
potentially profound implications for the news agenda at large, and for the way
that information flows across the network. Trending topics have become a key
mechanism by which certain ideas or perspectives gain visibility in the digital
domain. They have become a symbol of newsworthiness.
Most would assume that they reflect the most popular topics at any given time
in any given place, but that’s not strictly true. Spikes are more likely to be
driven by headlines that are still predominantly determined by editors in
traditional newsrooms. So, rather than offering a challenge to the editorial
agenda set by mainstream media, trending topics may serve in many ways to
reinforce that agenda.

Size matters

As for Google, its news-service algorithm
has for some time been weighting news providers according to a broad spectrum
of what it considers reliable indicators of news quality. But one look at Google’s
most recent patent filing for its news algorithm reveals just how much size
is used as a proxy for quality in the world of digital news: the size of the
audience, the size of the newsroom, and the volume of output.

In relation to audience, Google rewards
providers with an established record of click-throughs from its pages; those
that feature prominently in user surveys and data collected by market research
agencies; and those with a relatively global reach as detected by clicks,
tweets, likes and links from users based in other countries. For newsroom
capacity, Google embeds metrics into its algorithm that ‘guesstimates’ the number
of journalists (with reference to by-lines) as well as the number of ‘bureaus’
operated by the news provider.

It’s not hard to see how these metrics
can disproportionately favour mainstream news providers over more specialist or
alternative outlets. Above all, Google’s quality weighting hangs on volume.
According to the patent filing:

A
first metric in determining the quality of a news source may include the number
of articles produced by the news source during a given time period […] [and]
may be determined by counting the number of non-duplicate articles […] [or]
counting the number of original sentences produced.

Some volume metrics favour long-form and
original news, which are fairly uncontentious indicators of quality (even if
they still favour news organizations with relative scale and resource
advantage). But others are more problematic. For instance, Google rewards
organizations that provide a ‘breadth’ of news coverage, which penalizes more
specialized news organizations. Specializing in this sense is really the only
way that potential new entrants, which lack the resources and scale of existing
providers, can compete by offering an in-depth and ‘quality’ news alternative.

Perhaps the most contentious metric is
one that purports to measure what Google calls ‘importance’ by comparing the
volume of a site’s output on any given topic to the total output on that topic
across the web. In a single measure, this promotes both concentration at the
level of provider (by favouring organizations with volume and scale), as well
as concentration at the level of output (by favouring organizations that
produce more on topics that are widely covered elsewhere). In other words, it
is a measure that reinforces both an aggregate news ‘agenda’, as well as the
agenda-setting power of a relatively small number of publishers. ‘Importance’ is a measure that reinforces both an
aggregate news ‘agenda’, as well as the agenda-setting power of a relatively
small number of publishers.

Google favours automated indicators
because they rely less on human subjective interpretations of news value. But while
they may be free of subjective bias in one sense, they rely on quantitative
indicators of quality, which produce their own bias towards large-scale and
mainstream providers.

Google engineers may well argue that the
variety of volume metrics embedded in the algorithm ensures that concentration
effects counterbalance pluralizing effects, and that there is no more
legitimate or authoritative way to measure news quality than relying on a full
spectrum of quantitative indicators. Rightly or wrongly, Google believes that
‘real news’ providers are those that can produce significant amounts of
original, breaking and general news on a wide range of topics and on a
consistent basis.

At face value, that doesn’t sound like
such a bad thing. In a world saturated with hype, rumour and fake news, it’s
not surprising that most people are attracted to media brands that signal a
degree of professionalism. But there is little evidence to suggest that
mainstream media brands have offered a meaningful corrective to fake news
stories and considerable evidence to suggest that they have served to amplify
them.

Consider, for example, an open letter calling for the re-election of
the Conservative Party during the 2015 British general election campaign. The
letter was published on the front page of the Daily Telegraph and presented as a spontaneous initiative by the
small business community with apparently 5,000 signatories and a statement that
implored voters to give the Conservatives a chance ‘to finish what they have
started’. It was duly picked up by the BBC and other television news channels and
largely
covered without critical scrutiny, on a day when the Conservatives happened
to have launched their small business manifesto and incumbent leader David
Cameron gave a speech to an audience of small business leaders in London.

Within
hours, however, it emerged that the letter had in fact originated from the
Conservative Party’s campaign headquarters, and it was not long before Twitter
users identified several duplicate signatories, as well as references to
companies that no longer existed or claimed not to have signed. They even found
Conservative Party candidates among the signatories. But by then, the
uncorrected news story had already reached many more millions of prospective
voters, courtesy of the mainstream broadcasters. For its part, Google pre-emptively
regards major news brands like the BBC as more likely to produce what it
considers quality news. The company made clear as much when it stated in
its patent filing that ‘CNN and BBC are widely regarded as high quality sources of accuracy of reporting,
professionalism in writing, etc., while local news sources, such as hometown news sources, may be of lower quality’. When major
western news brands are held up as a definitive benchmark of news quality, we
start to run into real problems from the perspective of media diversity.

When major western news brands are held up as a definitive
benchmark of news quality, we start to run into real problems from the
perspective of media diversity. For one
thing, Google’s
quality metrics give favoured news organizations a prior weighting, which means that the ranking of stories is not
exclusively matched to the keywords of any given search. An article by a
relatively unknown provider may thus find itself out-ranked by competitors with
greater scale and brand presence, even if the article is more keyword-relevant,
in-depth and original.

Perhaps of greatest concern, Google’s
news algorithm discriminates against providers that focus on topics, issues and
stories beyond or on the fringes of
the mainstream agenda. Even its ‘originality’ metric – which purports to favour
diverse perspectives in the news generally – is limited to measuring the number
of ‘original named entities’ that appear in any given article in comparison
with related coverage on the same story or issue.

This
underlying alliance between Google and major news publishers is very much at
odds with the public war of words that has surrounded issues such as ancillary
copyright. In 2013, the German government passed a law attempting to force
Google to pay publishers for the use of cached content in its search listings.
Yet within a matter of weeks, the law was rendered defunct after publishers
lined up to issue Google a royalty-free license. It became clear that much as
Google values the news content of major publishers, the latter are even more
dependent on the referral traffic that Google provides.

Double speak

Arguably,
even testier than the relationship between Google and publishers in recent
years has been that between Google and the US and British governments in the
battle over surveillance and encryption.

In
2013, classified documents leaked by Ed Snowden suggested that the US National
Security Agency (NSA) had surreptitiously tapped into the backbone
infrastructure of a number of intermediaries, including Google, prompting a
chorus of outrage over what appeared to be a hacking of their servers.
Intermediaries also responded by installing or upgrading encryption of their
servers and software, prompting the US government to look to the courts in
order to force open the ‘back door’, and the British government to enshrine
similar measures in proposed new legislation.

Google
in particular reacted with characteristic outrage to the Snowden revelations,
decrying the US government for its surveillance over-reach and failure to
protect the privacy of its users. Yet at the very same time, we now know that
the company was actively seeking to collaborate
with state surveillance programmes.

On
18 February 2014, hundreds of privacy and civil liberty activists filled City
Hall in Oakland, California, protesting against the local government’s state of
the art surveillance system known as the ‘Domain Awareness Center’. The programme
was based on a centralized hub receiving real-time CCTV (closed-circuit
television) and other audio, video and data feeds from around the city, and
integrating them with a range of surveillance applications including face-recognition
software. Funded by the federal government, officials hailed it as an
innovative and comprehensive public safety initiative.

This
was not, however, enough to convince concerned local citizens for whom the
scope and reach of the programme posed, from the outset, unprecedented threats
to privacy and civil liberties. But the protestors at this particular meeting
had even
bigger worries on their mind. After reams of internal email disclosures
were enforced by the Public Records Office, it became clear that the programme
was not just about protecting residents in the event of a natural disaster or
terror attack, as officials proclaimed. It seemed to be aimed at least as much
at political activists and civil disobedients in a way that touched a nerve for
a city with a troubling history of police brutality. In the event, the
protestors won a significant concession from the authorities, which agreed to
limit the project to cover surveillance only at the city’s port and airport
rather than its entire metropolitan area as originally planned. The programme was not just about protecting residents in
the event of a natural disaster or terror attack, as officials proclaimed. It
seemed to be aimed at least as much at political activists and civil
disobedients.

But
there was a
little-noticed sting in the tale. Among the thousands of emails disclosed
was an exchange between a City Hall official, Renee Domingo, and Scott
Ciabattari, a ‘strategic partnerships manager’ at Google. In one email in
particular, Domingo asked Google for a presentation of ‘demos and products’
that could work with the Domain Awareness Center, as well as more general ideas
of ‘how the city might partner with Google’. The company appeared eager to
participate in the very practices of blanket public surveillance that it had
publicly scorned in response to the Snowden revelations.

The Interlock

This
was no isolated example of Google’s keenness to develop partnerships with the
surveillance and military state. Consider Michelle Quaid, Google’s Chief
Technology Officer for the Public Sector between 2011 and 2015 and voted the
most powerful woman by Entrepreneur
Magazine in 2014. Before joining Google, she had built a prodigious career
in roles spanning the Department of Defense and several intelligence agencies.
At Google, she self-styled her job as that of a ‘bridge-builder’ between big
tech and big government, especially the worlds of military
and intelligence.

Other
senior positions in Google’s ‘Federal’ division exemplify the company’s efforts
to cash in on lucrative partnerships with the military and security
establishment. The most senior is perhaps Shannon Sullivan, head of Google
Federal, the company’s government-facing division. Sullivan was a former
defence director for BAe Systems, the world’s largest arms manufacturer, and a
senior military adviser to the US Air Force.

But
it’s not just the security state that has developed entrenched links with
Google. Notwithstanding the temporary spat over surveillance revelations in
2013, the Obama administration had from the outset forged a long-term love-in
with Silicon Valley. The regular exchange of senior staff between the top
branches of government and the boards of big tech companies has produced not so
much a revolving as a spinning door between Big Tech and the White House. Loisa
Terrell, former legal counsel to Obama, joined Facebook as Head of Public
Policy in 2011 before being appointed Advisor to the Chairman of the Federal
Communications Commission (FCC) in 2013. And in 2015, Facebook hired former FCC
Chairman Kevin Martin to direct its mobile and global access policy. The regular exchange of senior staff between the top
branches of government and the boards of big tech companies has produced not so
much a revolving as a spinning door.

Tech
companies have also ratcheted up their political donations in recent years,
establishing ‘political action committees’ or PACs to front their political
lobbying efforts and campaign contributions during election cycles. Not
surprisingly, Google’s is the largest PAC and has grown exponentially since its
inception in 2006. In the 2014 mid-term elections, Google spent $1.6 million
compared to a mere $40,000 in 2006, and in the 2016 election cycle, it spent
$2.2 million, most
of it on Republican candidates. Two years earlier, Google’s Michelle
Quaid joined the board of the campaign technology company Voter Gravity,
which provides services to Republican candidates and technological support for
a number of conservative groups.

During
the 2015–16 electoral cycle, Google spent almost $12 million on lobbying US
representatives, and three out of four of its lobbyists had previously held senior government
posts. In 2015, Google had 10 employees devoted to lobbying European
politicians, an investment that appears to have borne some fruit at least with
the British government. According to an
investigation by the Observer newspaper
in 2015, ‘Britain has been privately lobbying the EU to remove from an official
blacklist the tax haven through which Google funnels billions of pounds of
profits’. In 2014, towards the end of his stint as EU Competition Commissioner,
Joaquín Alumnia complained bitterly of the pressure applied by member state
governments to go easy on Google. Alumnia had spearheaded anti-trust
investigations into the company during his four-year tenure and, coincidentally
perhaps, was also revealed to be one of the victims of the British Government Communications
Headquarters (GCHQ) and NSA surveillance in a target list leaked by Ed Snowden.

There
have also been a number of recent key cross-appointments between intermediaries
and media organizations. In 2010 Google hired Madhav Chinnappa, former head of
development and rights for BBC News, to lead its partnerships team for Europe,
the Middle East and Africa, while in 2015, senior Google executive Michelle
Guthrie was poached by Australia’s leading broadcaster ABC. The following year,
Facebook recruited the editor of Storyful – Newscorp’s social media news agency
– to manage its journalism partnerships, while Google’s vice president for
communications and public affairs in Europe, the Middle East and Africa is (at
the time of writing) Peter Barron, former editor of the BBC’s Newsnight. Google’s
vice president for communications and public affairs in Europe, the Middle East
and Africa is (at the time of writing) Peter Barron, former editor of the BBC’s
Newsnight.

Communications and
PR roles have also sustained a bridge between newsroom and government
employment. In Britain, the conviction and imprisonment of former News of the World editor Andy Coulson in
2015 was a PR disaster for the then Prime Minister, David Cameron, who had
hired Coulson to direct his communications after he had left the paper in 2010.
But less prominent is the interlocking directorate between media, the state and
the defence industry. William
Kennard, for instance, has served on the boards of the New York Times, AT&T and a number of companies owned by the
Carlyle Group, a major US defence contractor. His full-time roles have included
serving as Chairman of the FCC (1997–2001), managing director of the Carlyle
Group (2001–2009’, and US ambassador to the EU from 2009 to 2013.

United States Ambassador to the European Union William Kennard rings the opening bell of the Brussels stock exchange, September 2011.Yves Logghe/Press Association. All rights reserved.Perhaps more
significant than the formal links between big tech, media and the state are the
various milieus and forums in which their representatives congregate, both socially
and professionally. The annual Sun Valley conference in Idaho, for example,
is credited with spawning major tech–media mergers such as Comcast’s purchase
of NBC in 2009, and the deal that put the Washington
Post in the hands of Amazon founder Jeff Bezos in 2013. As for social cliques, Britain’s ‘Chipping Norton Set’
refers to a gang of media and political elites based in the upmarket
Oxfordshire village of the same name.

As for social
cliques, Britain’s ‘Chipping Norton Set’ refers to a gang of media and
political elites based in the upmarket Oxfordshire village of the same name.
Its members include David Cameron, Elizabeth Murdoch (daughter of Rupert),
Rebekah Brooks (now CEO of Murdoch’s UK newspaper operations), and Rachel
Whetstone (former Google director of communications and public policy). The
resilience of such intimate ties in the aftermath of the phone-hacking scandal was
demonstrated in December 2015, when the Murdochs hosted Cameron, among others,
for a Christmas drink. This followed on-going and persistent meetings between
Murdoch and senior government ministers in the year leading up to the 2015
general election.

News Corporation chairman Rupert Murdoch and The Sun editor Rebekah Wade (top right) with Andy Coulson (top left), June 2005. Michael Stephens/Press Association. All rights reserved.Of course, there is
nothing legally or perhaps even ethically wrong with politicians having
meetings or developing close friendships with media executives. The problematic
question concerns the degree to which this kind of interaction – which takes
place beyond public scrutiny or participation – yields a trickle-down influence
both over media and policy agendas. One of the most striking features of
testimony given to the Leveson Inquiry in 2012 by former prime ministers
(including close friends of Rupert Murdoch) was the
frank admission that their views were affected by, in the words of Tony
Blair, ‘how we are treated by them’.

Though the examples
pointed to above are by no means exhaustive, they paint a picture of a complex
network of institutional power with media, communications and technology
players occupying key nodes and playing crucial enabling roles within it.

This does not mean
that the ‘club’ functions as an entirely exclusive, cohesive, centralized and
coordinated vehicle of elite power. It does not even tell us much about how or
to what degree power is mobilized to produce an agenda consensus. But these are
all empirical questions that are raised by
the emergent media­–technology–military–industrial complex. And they are
questions that are overlooked by those
who assert or imply that the concept of a power elite or ideological
hegemony belongs to an outdated ‘control paradigm’ in media studies.

Both activists and researchers must remain
vigilant in a world where established media brands still account for the vast
majority of news consumption on all platforms; where the peddling of
fear-mongering nationalism in much of the commercial press has been exploited
by far-right political actors; and where there remain heightened concerns about
journalists’ autonomy against the background of austerity, technological
disruption aand, in Pentagon-speak,
‘the long war’.

This article features in State of Power,
an annual anthology on power published by Transnational Institute, an
international research and advocacy institute committed to building a just,
democratic and sustainable world.

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